


Golden Oceans

by Fun_In_A_Shotgun_Shell



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate timeline/Univserse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, You're big kids and can figure out the time period yourself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 01:32:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18488536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fun_In_A_Shotgun_Shell/pseuds/Fun_In_A_Shotgun_Shell
Summary: "You're so close, so closeAnd it's you that I believe in, I believe inSo close, but faraway, I seek for your lightI'll hold on'Cuz for you my heart keeps beatingWhen the wind, the fire, and all is goneCaress me with your sweet lullaby..."(Don't look to hard into this summary(or do), it's only temporary.





	1. Chapter One

The rancid smell of mud and rotten flesh between the halves of a sheep's hoof brings the gag out of the young man holding her. He offered to help the old man treat an old gimp sheep, but this had not been what he was expecting.

"Yep, that's hoof rot all right! You can almost tell just by the smell" The old man said while spreading the sheep's toes and exposing even more of the smell into the air. Most of it just hit the young man, who grimaced under his mask and pulled his head back. To say he wasn't used to this kind of work was an understatement. Not but a few years ago work like this could've made him spill his afternoon lunch, and there would've been someone else to clean that up for him as well.  
Hide quoted text

A lot can change in ten years. He might still retain his youth, but this man has grown past his weak former self and won't allow such trivial issues like a weak stomach trouble him.

"I need you to hold her still for a bit," the old man said and pulled a rope from one of the side pouches strapped to his belt. He tied the sheep's front hooves to each other in what the young man believes, or hopes is an attempt to keep her from kicking him. With much more agility than a man his age really should have, he grabs the sheep straight out of the other man's arms and turns her over to grab at her back right foot. She's been more so quiet this whole time, but the second he grabs the girl by her sore hoof, she's bleating up a storm and the young man wants to cover his ears.

"I'm gonna get her on her side since she ain't standing right, I need you to hold her hoof open for me" he grunts out, still delicately holding her foot when he puts her on the ground and pins her down with his legs. She's not thrashing, so there is at least that. When the old pulls a yellow salve from his satchel, he asks for the other to grab her hoof.

As soon as the young man's hands touch the infected rotted hoof, he tastes bile in the back of his throat.

Okay, maybe not that much has actually changed. 

Later when he's not reminiscing his youth, he's washing the last bit of vomit off his shirt.

"Thanks so much again! That old girl has been limping for a good few days" The old man smiled as he pats the young man on the back and hands him a few bills. It was a little more than their discussed payment, but the old man really felt like he deserved it, especially after the poor boy threw up.

"Its no trouble really, I had nothing to do anyway," the younger says as he counts the money. He doesn't say anything about the extra cash, just pockets it quickly as if he didn't see anything. "I'll be off" he sighs, heading for the door. Clearly, he'd rather be somewhere else.

"Wait-!" The old man's outburst stops the other in his tracks as he's half-way out the door. The young man cocks his head to the side, waiting with a question resting on his tongue. "What else could this old man possibly want?"

"Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?" The old man asks and rubs his hands nervously together.

"-Oh"?

The youth frowns under his mask before turning his gaze to the ground. Conflicted on what he should say. "No" is all he can utter in this situation. He's learned from his time working that its best not to be rude, but he doesn't want to be polite either. He really hopes he doesn't meet this man again.

"Would you like to stay the night? We got a nice guest room and I'm making dinner later." The old man smiled, a hopeful gleam in his eye. He acts like he's handled someone like this mysterious fellow before, and he may have. But this one will stray away from a helping hand like a beaten dog.

"No" is all the other can say once again, and he makes sure to slam the door behind him. To hell with manners.

Somewhere there is a man, a scarred, dangerous, dour man. Somewhere this man is crying in an alleyway. Not knowing what else to do, or where to go.

With no friends, he has nowhere to stay. With no family, he is longer who he once was. He is in every sense alone and has resisted all those who claimed to care for him. With what little money he has he could buy himself a room for a few days and keep warm, but that's if he wants to. He's become reckless and uncaring to how the elements treat his body. For now, he's contempt with passing out on cold concrete with tears freezing his cheeks.

He originally came to this region because he was told from some unforgotten source that his subject of revenge was in India, but he had been too late to find the bastard. Without even thinking he went to Nepal, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the man he is so focused on fled there for safety and in the hopes of escaping the baleful assassins at his back.

Now our grim stranger has lost all hope. It's been just shy of a month since he's started looking in Nepal, and he's found nothing that's not negligible. It almost feels like his life isn't even his anymore, that instead of a man he is a walking ball of knotted writhing emotions. Wrecked and worn down as those emotions may be, they still burn his soul endlessly and cut through paper skin. Not even the ocean could smooth these edges.

Now those edges cut him deep and tear away that tough, cold exterior he had held together for that old man. Oh, that poor man. He had just gotten finished unloading some grain at the feed mill when he came in there offering to pay someone for help. Everyone else was busy and the young man needed the money so of course, he took the job. Though holding sheep and putting salve on rotting hooves had not been in his plan. 

He was at least lucky to find work at a feed mill run by Americans, he doesn't understand Nepalese very well. What so many Americans were in Nepal for, he couldn't care less. All that mattered was he was that he had work and was getting paid. But the old man was a bit of a strange character, and the way he carried himself was much less that of an older gentleman, but that rather that of a soldier. He walked with a wide gait and stood strong; you could practically feel the strength behind his movements. He wishes he learned his name because "Old man" doesn't seem like it fits his description. He sure did talk like an old man all the same, though. He went on with any subject that came to mind.

Apparently, the ewe wasn't his, but instead in his care. That particular ewe belonged to a monk at the monastery around the top of the mountain. She was to be taken care of while the monk was out of the country. It was all just idle chat the old man streamed out while his compatriot tried not to barf. None of it mattered, but the small talk did ease them both. It was appreciated.

Nowadays he's not really sure what to welcome into his life anymore. Or what he wants to appreciate.

Like waking up to a hot meal, and a warm blanket.

"Oh my, I do apologize" a voice soft as lavender wisps through his ears when he shakes himself out of sleep. What's going on? Why is his lap warm? "I did not mean to wake you" That voice once again graces his ears before he finally forces himself to focus.

Our loner has met the cold clutching grip of death many times, but it's just now that he believes he's seen an angel. The spiritual aura practically gleams through the loner's skin

A brown-sugar colored man with eyes bright and blue as fire, surrounded in a golden halo of light stands above him. His robes are silver and pink but shine like celestial light shaped into an empyrean form.

"Are you okay? Do you mind telling what you are doing here?" startled, out of his own dream, our loner realizes that no, he is not looking at an angel and that he's probably been staring pretty intensely at this man. He looks down and sees that he's covered in a wool blanket and that there's a steaming container of food sitting in his lap.

"I did not wish to disturb you from your sleep, honestly. I had actually planned to wait for your wake." Somehow that voice gets even sweeter when he's fully awake. Its an almost ungodly amazing way to wake up.

"I-... Who are you?" The masked man, who had been sleeping in an alley asks the young angel dressed in pink and silver robes. The contrast reversed, and the peculiar-looking man on his feet instead of the other, and someone might have seen the situation as threatening. A masked criminal mugging one of the village's brightest faces.

"My name is Zenyatta, and I am a monk at the monastery on the mountain. I'm sure you've heard of it." Zenyatta says clear and carefully like he's talking to a child. Or maybe he's scared the information will scare off his newfound friend. No one would blame the man for running off either, it's a little overwhelming to wake up to a monk sitting next to you. "I do hope you do not think it rude of me, but I purchased you a meal and brought you a blanket." He coughs gently into his hand before fixing his company with a mischievous glance. 

"Even though it is rude to ask for a name without offering yours, I don't blame you for your curiosity. I am certain I surprised you", Zenyatta said and turned to the wall where the man could see a half-formed smirk pulling on those lovely lips. The morning sun still encased him in a golden hue, making him this constant divine presence for his fatigued company.

It takes said company a moment to realize what just happened and he blinks a few times just to assure himself that, yes, a monk is smirking at him. The last thing he ever expected to wake up to was a monk, and never in his life had he been sassed by one!

"Its Genji" he, our 'Genji' says with a snort before fixing the monk with an equally mischievous look. It may be a bit hard to see under the thin paper of his medical mask, but he feels like Zenyatta already understands that warm feeling blooming deep in his chest. A golden moment of peace meant only for them. For those whose souls are strong enough to keep themselves whole. Festering but whole.


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think I might just have what it takes, you never know." There's another gleam in his eyes, golden and shining harmoniously with the sunlight. The sunset is quite lovely, golden light hitting the baren trees. Though Genji is more focused on that brilliant fawn skin that seems to sparkle before him. Strange, skin isn't supposed to sparkle, yet he's entranced by it.

Spending time with Zenyatta had apparently not been near as intimidating as Genji had expected. The young monk had been kind and refused to look down on a strange man, and Genji had appreciated the cheeriness. Zenyatta was probably just as thankful because it helped to get Genji to follow him out of the alleyway and join him for a cup of tea at a nearby shop. 

It was a small quiet place where the two could relax from the surprise they gave themselves outside. The two waitresses gave them a table by the window, where they could enjoy their tea in silence. Genji got an annoying itch when he saw one of them was American. He's really not sure what's with all of them but stays out anyways. Hopefully, they're just missionaries spreading out the word of God, whatever help that's going to do. There's already a monastery here.

"If you're a monk then... Why the fancy robes?", Genji asked. The question had been on his tongue for a while, but he didn't feel comfortable asking it until now. The inviting feng shui of the small cafe made it hard not to relax. He still kept his mask on though, not willing to make the warm vibe around them awkward.

"Fancy?" Zenyatta questioned before looking down at himself, observing the way the light rode against his silken gown. "I almost forgot" he chuckled and Genji ignored the way it made his heart jump. "I just came back from America. My brother thought these would be more appropriate". That would explain how he speaks English so well.

"Oh, so you went to America?", Genji asked, his thick eyebrows quirked up with genuine curiosity. It's almost strange how interested he is in a man who he's just met.

"Yes, this was actually the fourth time I have been. Once when I was five, I joined the first Earth Day. The other two were because my brother wants to bring a monastery there." Zenyatta lets out an exasperated sound and lets his chin rest in his hand. Genji wants to ask more, ask what the visits were like, where he went, who his brother is, but he's content keeping it to himself. He is pretty curious about what the unmentioned trip was, though.

"Jeez, that sounds pretty exhausting, to be honest." Genji leans back and crosses his arms behind his back, resembling more of a pleased cat than a man. "I mean America sounds nice, but the whole country is too much of a hassle for my taste" he looks over and sees Zenyatta's eyebrows pinched together.

"Really? You sound like you've been there before, your English is amazing" Zenyatta pointed out, and Genji almost choked on his spit. "It doesn't sound European either" Zenyatta certainly is intuitive. He's been to America plenty of times, but the reasons weren't the best, and he doesn't want to make up another story.

"My father did business with Americans. He thought it'd be a good idea for me to learn." Genji said with a shrug. "I guess it just stuck with me," At least it wasn't a lie.

"Still you use it quite well," Zenyatta smiled, and the compliment made Genji's stomach stir up.

"It's just a silly language," Genji scoffed and tried to ease the blush from, his cheeks.

"And yet we both speak it, it has brought us into the conversation just now," Zenyatta says smugly and Genji chuckles into his hand. He's noticed the way he pronounces each word carefully like he needs to read it in his head first. It's endearing, especially the way he avoids using compounds, he sounds just like Genji did when he first learned.

"How old are you, Zenyatta?", Genji asked tensely. 

"Eighteen," The monk said sharply. Oh god, this man was a baby! 

"You?"

"Thirty-two," Genji inhaled. To think that a person like him is having tea with a monk who's almost half his age. "Never thought a monk could be so young," He said while eyeing the Jieba on his forehead in disbelief. There they were, all nine dots branded into a neat square. 

"Well, I more or less grew into it," Zenyatta's mysterious smile flashed in the window light. 

"What does that mean?" Genji's eyes bugged out of his skull with the sheer need to rip every piece of information out of this man.

"Why don't you join me on the mountain?" Zenyatta purred, completely deflecting what Genji had said. What was worse was that it actually worked.

"Why would you want me to join you...up there?", Genji croaked, throat suddenly unbearably dry and needy for a gulp of his tea. "Why?"

"Why not? You keep asking me about the monastery, and it would be nice to have some company on my way back." Zenyatta gave him a wink before he got up and to pay the bill. Genji tried to avoid watching his robe catch the sun's light as he walked up to the counter. A feat indeed, for the monk seemed to make a show of his little trip to their waitress. His hips canting side-to-side rather lazily, and his arms flowing by his sides with the movement. It reminded Genji of when he used to feed the koi at his old home's pond. The fat ones would push themselves sluggishly through the water with sweeping strokes of the tail while their fins billowed softly at their sides. It seems their childish enchantment never faded away. 

When Zenyatta sat back down Genji had prepared to deny him, to tell him to run to back to his brother, that he'd be better off alone. All of that crumbled when the monk opened his eyes and caught the loner's gaze. Flecks of gold flash at Genji through those impossibly long eyelashes in a hypnotizing display of beauty. Eyes he could have sworn to the grave were a pure breath-taking cyan, stare right into his soul. Streaks of gold shine in the bright blues like polished lapis.

"Would you not agree?", Zenyatta hums, a smile still pulling his perfect lips. Genji just barely caught that he was talking at all. Shit- he hopes he wasn't just staring at Zenyatta.

"Hm?" Genji questions in a dazed, almost desperate way. If he doesn't look away now, he's sure to drown in a sea of gold and blue eyes. 

"Company, my friend. Having company on a journey is always nice." Zenyatta sounded so authoritative at that moment, his voice practically encased Genji's attention like a siren's song. All Genji could do was nod dumbly. "I think you would make great company," he got up from his chair and held a hand out for Genji, who gratefully took the proffered appendage. 

The journey up the mountain hadn't been half as bad as Genji expected. In reality, it had been enjoyable. The sun was out and warming the cold frigid ground beneath them, and it gave him a chance to stretch out his muscles without worry.

Zenyatta apparently only had a backpack as his luggage, if you could even call that luggage. It was an old ratty leather pull-string backpack covered in various sewed and plastered on patches and a few metal buttons. There was absolutely no pattern to it aside from the common plastered flower here and there and the fact that Zenyatta had a passion for different types of music. One patch did stand out though, it was a large patch on the front pocket and said, "The Police" in orange and blue paint. Genji couldn't help the feeling of appreciation when he saw how delicately it was made, Zenyatta clearly adored whoever, "The Police" was.

"So-" Genji grabbed onto a branch from one of the many peach trees lining the path and swung himself in front of Zenyatta. "What do you guys do up there all day?", he had to admit, he was a little curious about what Zenyatta's daily life was.

Zenyatta snorted and pulled a leaf out of Genji's messy hair. "Well for starters- we wake up every morning and get on our knees to read five chapters describing the color of Budhha's toenails, then we scrub the floors till they shine." He hummed, and Genji had to force himself to frown.

"I'm being serious" Genji whined as Zenyatta walked by and tutted at him.

"Ah, but I am too. Did you know every day after dinner we all hum in unison for six hours? Helps digestion." The monk turned around and gave him a sly smile.

"I bet you sacrifice lonely travelers every Tuesday!" Genji exclaimed and swung on another branch, enjoying how Zenyatta looked from above.

"Now who told you that!" Zenyatta laughed, and Genji accidentally let go of his branch mid-jump and fell flat on his ass. If you asked him, he'd say it was a dead branch, not the warm laugh still ringing in his ears, now at full-force. Zenyatta nearly fell onto his knees when the giggles just erupted from his mouth like cola-foam.

"Such a poor lonely traveler, indeed." He snorted, soft lips pushed into a fake pout. "I guess that means I have to give you a helping hand," he feigned indifference and held out his hand. 

"I guess so-" Genji snatched his hand as he pulled himself up, still trying to will away the ruddiness from is cheeks. "If you could put up with me," he doesn't understand what he's saying, or what's being asked, but he desperately wants to hear Zenyatta say yes.

Instead, Zenyatta lets go of his hand to take hold of the straps of his backpack. "I think I might just have what it takes, you never know." There's another gleam in his eyes, golden and shining harmoniously with the sunlight. The sunset is quite lovely, golden light hitting the baren trees. Though Genji is more focused on that brilliant fawn skin that seems to sparkle before him. Strange, skin isn't supposed to sparkle, yet he's entranced by it.

"Utsukushii", Genji whispers, leaning in close to the other.

Zenyatta scantily hides his panic when he sees Genji getting closer, but when he sees how close the sun is to the setting, he's trembling with terror. "We really have to go-" he quickly grabs Genji's hand tugs it away from him hard. "Right now!" he yells.

Almost on instinct, Genji's grip tightens when he starts running, dragging the monk right behind him with an unrelenting grip. 

Zenyatta barely manages to keep up, but the fear of what's to come keeps him running on burning legs. For Genji, its the fear of the unknown, fear that drips off the monk and seeps into his own skin like poison.

The flash of the sunlight hitting Zenyatta's eyes with each every tree they pass does its best to disorient him till he finally trips over a root when they reach the edge of the tree-lined path and instead falls on the rough stone starting the new trail. He's dazed on the ground for all but a second before Genji has pulled him up from under his arms; trying to get him back on his feet. Zenyatta has to slap his shoulder to make him stop. 

"S-stop! Stop it!" He yelps, pushing himself off of his right foot where it bends at an odd angle.

Genji hisses between his teeth and picks Zenyatta up, holding him against himself as he would for a child, not wanting the injured man to hit anything else. He can hear something splitting behind him, and it sets him off like a fire shooting up the path. 

"What was-" Genji avoids a rock and holds Zenyatta closer, certainly not getting a small high from how he wraps his arms over his shoulders and hears that horrible sound again, it sounds like a tree being ripped in half, and its closer this time. "That!" He's trying to sound composed but each sound of destruction sends another shock up his backside. 

"Its nothing! L-look!" Zenyatta doesn't even need to gesture for him, Genji can see polished metal sparkling in what little sunlight is left. He kicks at the latch and pushes through it with his side before slamming the gate back in place.

All he can do is breath when he can hear the crunching rumble of madness no more. It was like it was an echo slowly dying down inside his own head.

"I am so sorry, Genji- I-I did not mean-" Zenyatta gasps and covers his face with his hands, leaving Genji as his only support. "I thought we'd be here sooner" his voice sounds scratchy and broken. Genji thinks he should soothe him, but he's still scared himself. His eyes dart left and right, and there seems to be a monk sprinting towards them, maybe he could help.

"Zenyatta!" The man is yelling, not even caring his ornate robes are getting dirt on them while he runs to the other two. He doesn't even pause to look at Genji, just scoops the little monk out of his arms. He does notice that Zenyatta's still covering his face but just cradles his head on his shoulder like an infant. He mutters something in Zenyatta's ear where the other man can't hear. "Follow me, its not safe out here at night."

Genji sputters on his words for a moment, too freaked out to really protest. He just follows, all fight replaced with wonder- and he loathes to say it, but worry as well.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is actually an experiment of mine. I want to improve on my writing, so I've decided to actually write a fanfic. This way can help myself write a real story for my own characters. 
> 
> That does not mean I don't intend to finish it, it wouldn't be very productive to myself not to finish a project. My goal is at least 20,000 words.
> 
> I would love it if you could comment and point out things wrong with it, that way I can improve.


End file.
